(1) The Task. Linyanti lies a hundred miles from the Zambesi river, at which the two possible routes may be said to fork. The one, eastward, was comparatively simple: it was to follow the great river some thousand miles to the sea. The other, westward, meant tracing the river towards the source so far as was possible, and then striking westward for St. Paul de Loanda, a matter in all of some fifteen hundred miles. Cape Town lay to the south, another fifteen hundred miles. These were the three spokes of the wheel from the centre at Linyanti. Little was known to Livingstone of either the eastward or the westward route. He could only roughly estimate the distance. He had no notion what hostile tribes, what malarial swamps, what impenetrable forests, what waterless deserts might fall to be encountered. All that lay in the lap of destiny. He had not only to make this pilgrimage himself; he had to watch over the safety of his Makololo “boys,” keep them supplied with food and drink, and protect them in the event of attack by savages. The deadly “tsetse” fly lay in wait for his oxen. The African fever lurked in ambush everywhere. In all times of extremity he had nothing to consult but his own stout heart and resourceful brain. Perils of floods and fevers, wild beasts and wilder human foes might be expected as a daily portion. Death would be almost a familiar companion. No love of adventure, no curiosity and fascination of exploration would have driven Livingstone through this self-imposed task. One has only to study his journal and listen to his simple, artless confessions of faith to see that at every step the Christian motive was supreme. He had sight of the ultimate City--the coming civilisation of Christ--and the lions of the way were all chained, and the dangerous rapids charmed.